Yellow Roses
by Superhero11
Summary: In the language of roses, Yellow Roses mean Love Eternal; which is exactly what Esme and Carlisle find in each other. This story starts when Esme jumps and follows them as they fall in love. Temporarily on hold.


**Author's Note: I have always loved Carlisle and Esme; well actually I take that back because when I was first reading the Twilight Saga, I have to admit that I only had eyes for Edward. (In the figurative sense of course) But after I went back, I realized that Carlisle would have been my better match. I always thought that they should get their story told since Stephenie Meyer does not really go into it. So here is what I thought their story would be… Please enjoy!**

Yellow Roses

_Chapter One_

_Esme_

I had finally had enough. I just could not take the sorrow and pain anymore. It seemed that my entire life had just mistake after misfortune. Every one of my good intentions turning vile and going against me.

Actually, to be fair, my misfortunes had not started until I became Charles Evenson's wife. At first, when we started courting, he had been the soul of gentleman like behavior. Always ready to smile, laugh, and have a good time. My parents thought that I was the luckiest girl in Columbus that I had snagged such a wonderful fiancé.

It was not until after we were married that he showed himself for what he really was.

The morning after we were married, I gladly got up to make our breakfast the next morning of eggs and toast. It was not my fault that he woke up late that morning and the eggs were cold by the time that he ate them. But in his eyes, it was all fault. He threw the plate of eggs at my face yelling that I was an incompetent wife and that if I did not want to feel his anger I would have to learn quickly.

I did not know what to do, so I hastily promised that I would try my hardest so not to displease him, as I cleaned up the broken dish.

I tried to be the wife that he would want me to be, but it was no use. Everything that I did was met with displeasure. If we went out with his friends from work and I did not make conversation; he would lock me in our basement saying that I could stay there until I had something to say. So eager not to repeat the same mistake, I would be as charming as I could the next time that I went out; but when we got home he hit me until I was sure that I had at least a few broken bones. And if I started to cry, he would only scoff and hit me harder until I was just a crumpled form on our kitchen floor.

I lived in fear of every little thing that I did. If the dinner was cold or if the the house was not perfectly in order every night, I could expect chastisement of one form or another. And if he was not beating me, he would come to my bed intoxicated and demand his husbandly rights to my person.

I tried to tell my parents that he was not the man that he seemed, I even showed her the burn marks on my arms where he had jabbed me with the hot fire iron. But my mother just turned her head and said that it was a wife's duty to accept her husband's punishment for I most surely had done something wrong. And that there was nothing that she could do because I legally belonged to Charles and she would not permit me to get a divorce for the scandal would be too great.

It was not until Charles was drafted into World War I that I was allowed any amount of freedom. I had been kept under close supervision, having to report all of my doings to my husband out of fear that he would suspect me of keeping anything from him.

It was then that I found out that I was pregnant with Charles's son. I knew that I could not allow this poor child to be raised properly with a man like Charles for a father. I wanted him to be a perfect gentleman like another man that I had known.

So with my firm resolve, I moved to Ashland. I started my new life there with the story of being a teacher whose husband had just died leaving her alone to give birth and raise their son. For being a complete lie, I thought my story was believable, and it must have been because no one ever questioned me. No one knew any better because no one knew anything about me.

I gave birth to my son, James, about a month ago. He was my light, and my feeling of hope and lifter oppression. I would shower this little boy with all the love and compassion that had gone to waste on my husband. I would make this little boy's life as perfect as I could, especially now that Charles was out of the picture. I would raise this little boy to be the perfect gentleman, just like another man that I had met when I was just a little girl.

_Dr. Cullen. Dr. Carlisle Cullen._

In every girl's life she will meet a man that will completely capture her heart and ruin her for any other man. Most of the time, this girl is lucky enough to either marry said man or grow out of the infatuation. Unfortunately for me, neither one had happened.

~*~

I met Dr. Cullen when I was taken to hospital for falling out of a tree when I was about sixteen. It was actually rather foolish the reason that I had fallen out, but I was reading my favorite novel, Pride and Prejudice, and I just could not control myself when I read the part when Mr. Darcy proposes to Elizabeth the second time. Needless to say, my father rushed me to the hospital with my mother in a panic, bustled around him the entire trip.

I was taken into the hospital room with little problem, I was instructed to wait with my parents for the new doctor to come a check out my leg. I did not have to wait very long before this doctor came thru the door with a business-like expression on his face. He was really tall with simply styled and combed blond hair. In short, he looked like an angel in a Doctor's coat. He stopped briefly to talk to my parents telling them that his name was Dr. Carlisle Cullen and that he was going to check my ankle to see if anything was broken.

He turned around to face me and calmly walked over to the examining table that they had me sitting on. He talked politely with me, asking me how I was and if I was enjoying the warm late-May weather. At first I was just completely stunned by how clearly annunciated all of his words were. It seemed as if they just flowed out of his mouth as cool and as refreshing as a spring rain. And after a few moments of just sitting there enjoying that this god-like creature was even talking to me, I replied that spring-time was my favorite season because I loved the sunshine and flowers.

He continued talking to me as he carefully checked my ankle for any broken bones. It was not until he reached a particularly tender spot that he came to the conclusion that I had indeed broken my ankle. He looked over at my mother who was frantically wringing her hands together, looking at my with such a stricken expression that it brought tears to my eyes.

Dr. Cullen must have seen my watery eyes and immediately thought that I was nervous about the pain that would insure by setting my broken ankle. He pulled out a hanker-chief from his pocket and told me that I should use it if I ever felt like crying. I gratefully took it from him carefully inspecting it; it was made of plain white fabric with C.C. embroidered in the bottom right-hand corner.

Holding the hanker-chief tightly in my hand, I braced myself for the pain that I knew would come. The entire time from when he firmly held my ankle to when I heard a distinctive crack, he looked at me with kind, reassuring eyes. It was not until then that I realized that his eyes were the most remarkable shade of gold that reminded me of the sunshine that I had just bragged about loving so much.

The pain came and went with a surprising amount of quickness. He carefully bandaged my leg and told me that I would not be able to walk on it for six weeks. And that I should refrain from reading any more novels in trees because it seems to be a dangerous thing, he added with a smile before instructing my parents to keep ice on it and to keep it elevated.

I spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling in my room, lovingly tracing the C.C. on the hanker-chief that he had given me. I folded it and placed it on the bed stand next to me before blowing out the candle. I fell asleep that night thinking how lovely it would be to become _Mrs. Carlisle Cullen._

I stayed the next six weeks in my house doing womanly chores with my mother. We spent our days sewing and talking idly about rather trivial things. Whatever came into our minds really, just enjoying each other's company more than anything.

When the six weeks were over and I was officially declared healed, I walked into town to the hospital to thank Dr. Cullen for being so kind to me. However, when I got there, I was told by another one of the doctors that he had left town a month ago, saying that his aunt in Boston was very sick and that he needed to go see her.

Silently I nodded and thanked the doctor for his kindness. I ran out of town so that I could go sit on the hill that was just down the road from our house. I sadly lied down on the warm grass thinking that I would never see him again, but that I would probably always be in love with him.

~*~

I stood there at the edge of the cliff, holding the hanker-chief to my heart, as I thought of everything that had left me. My son had died, having caught pneumonia just a few weeks after being born. There was nothing that I could have done to save him, which was what the doctor had said. My parents and friends had abandoned me when I needed their support while I was being abused by Charles. And Dr. Carlisle Cullen had left me alone to deal with the loss of unrequited love, to spend the rest of my life wishing that I could just see him again, if only for a moment.

Charles had told me that I was worthless, and that I deserved no one's love. He had told me that I was a failure as a wife and a human being and that I deserved nothing more or less than punishment, something that he saw to with astounding fervor.

What I wanted was the oblivion that I was sure death would provide for me. I did not want to hurt any more over the losses that I have suffered. All I wanted was peace and quiet and to be with the son that I had recently lost.

I realized that I wanted to die happy, and so I went back to the time in my life when I was truly happy… I pictured _his_ face: his eyes, smile, and his reassuring voice.

And before I fell off of the cliff, the last thing that I thought was _I love you, Dr. Carlisle Cullen._

**Author's Note: I do not know when I will be able to update this story again. I have the next two and a half outlines done. I can only say that I do not wish for it to be an obscenely long time for that to happen.**

**Please leave me a review telling me what you think.**

**Love Allison**


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